by Logan Fox
Pearl stiffened: what the hell was that supposed to mean? Seth released her and disappeared into a different section of his apartment, leaving her stranded in the empty space between his living room and the small kitchenette housing a bar fridge and an espresso machine.
She heard cupboard doors opening, things clanking, the sound of Seth moving around. Pearl took a few steps back, her hand reaching blindly behind her. She found the door handle, closed her hand around it, twisted it.
It didn’t open.
Her heart slammed against her chest. Of course it didn’t open: no door in this fucked-up place opened when you wanted it to.
Seth stuck his head out from behind the wall dividing his apartment and cocked his head, beckoning her closer. He didn’t seem to notice that she was trying to escape.
“Come on. The sooner we start, the sooner you can leave.”
Her stomach writhed in panic. She wanted to do belly breaths like he’d shown her, but it felt hypocritical to use a relaxing technique taught by the same person who was making her panic. Instead, she shoved herself forward, taking unsteady steps toward Seth. He disappeared again.
The archway opened up into a small passage with two different doorways leading off on opposite ends. One stood ajar, the other was shut.
Pearl stuck out a quivering hand and pushed against the door, letting it swing open.
It was a small room, less than eight feet across. It had a massage table in the middle, a basin and washer against one wall, and a shelf with incense and an ashtray against the other.
“What—” Pearl began.
Seth had shoved his sleeves up his arms, exposing the crawling maze of tattoos on either arm. He pointed at the table.
“Get on.”
“You’re a masseuse?” Pearl managed, clearing her throat. “Seriously?”
“Not professionally.” Seth shrugged. “Just something I picked up. Now get on.”
She used the small set of steps at the bottom of the table to climb up, and perched on the edge with her legs swinging under her. The panic was beginning to filter away, but tendrils of unease still tickled her spine.
Was this his definition of foreplay?
“You ever massage your wife?” Pearl asked before she’d really thought about the repercussions of the question.
Seth didn’t even pause as he did something hidden from her close to where the incense coiled smoke into the air.
“She doesn’t like it much. It’s more for the foxes. Adam and Jarred too, sometimes. Tanner once and never again.”
Pearl’s eyes grew large. She couldn’t imagine the hulk of Seth bending over Caden to give him a back rub.
Seth turned and held out a joint to her.
If her eyes had been wide before, they’d probably turned into saucers now.
“Uh… I don’t…”
“Like hell you don’t,” Seth said, closing the distance between them and lifting her hand. “Those weren’t herbs in your luggage.”
Pearl tried to glare at him, but she couldn’t summon the energy. Why did she still bother trying to fight any of this? Did you try to get off the roller coaster after they’d bolted you in? Not unless you were suicidal, no. You were stuck, heart pounding and stomach twisting, while the thing went through its loops and turns with you. And you could either close your eyes and pray for death, or you could throw your arms into the air and scream for joy.
She took the joint and ducked forward so he could light it for her.
“I thought you only smuggled in contraband for Gia. What makes me so special?”
Seth paused in the act of lighting the joint for her. “She said that?”
“Not her.”
“Morgan?”
Pearl shrugged, but that gesture alone was probably enough to give it away; she was such a snitch.
Seth sighed and lit the joint for her. “Truth is a rare thing in these parts,” he said. “Better get yourself a motherfucking big bag of salt, kitten: you’re going to need it.”
After a succession of three long tokes, she handed the joint back to him. He tugged at it, nearly finishing what was left, and turned to put it in the ashtray. They both exhaled at the same time. The air became hazy, the weed eradicating its delicate patchouli-laden scent of before.
“Off,” Seth said, tugging at her sweatshirt as he moved around the table.
“Of course,” Pearl muttered. She yanked the shirt off her head, considered covering her nipples with an arm, and then realized it really didn’t matter in the greater scheme of things. She sat, shirtless and slightly woozy, watching Seth move around. He didn’t seem interested in ogling her. With five foxes almost always in various stages of being undressed or fucked around him, and a wife to boot, she couldn’t blame him. It was like that joke about how the last thing a gynecologist wanted to see when he got home was more vagina.
“Pants too.”
“Yes, Sir.” Pearl swung her legs onto the table and fell back, lifting her hips as she tugged off her pants.
“You can leave your underwear on.”
She let out a decidedly unladylike snort. “Would if I could.”
Seth turned to her, glanced down, and rolled his eyes.
“In my defense,” Pearl said, raising a finger, “I try not to wear undies whenever I can. Better for the—” she made a vague gesture in the direction of her nether regions “—you know.”
“Whatever you say, kitten.”
She laughed at this and rolled onto her stomach. The table had a padded hole for her face, and she sighed as she let her forehead and cheeks rest against the smooth surface. It was warm inside the room, but not hot. Her ears buzzed as the weed she’d smoked began messing with her brain.
“Comfy?” Seth asked.
Pearl giggled. Comfy. God, it was funny when he said that.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
He draped a towel over her ass and thighs, making her squirm as he adjusted it to his liking.
Cool hands touched her shoulders. He’d already oiled them so they slid over her skin with a minimal amount of friction.
Within minutes, Pearl lost herself in those hands. He found knots she hadn’t even realized were there and kneaded them out of her muscles like an experienced baker making one of those twisty roll thingies. He used his knuckles and his thumbs and his elbows. Soft, hard, insistent — working her body until she fell into a pseudo-trance.
He spoke to her too, his quiet rumble of a voice making her shiver.
“Good?”
“Too hard?”
“This hurt?”
“More?”
She could only answer in grunts or whines, his fingers leeching her strength in waves until she felt as limp as a piece of cooked spaghetti.
“Why’d you get into the car?” Seth asked, startling her out of what had almost been sleep.
“Huh?” She twisted her head around in the hole, but a hand on her shoulder kept her down. She relaxed again and sighed.
“The car. Why’d you get in?”
“Oh.” She shifted a little, trying to get back into the same position as before. “Cellphone.”
“Cellphone?”
“He said I could use his phone if I got in.”
“You fall for candy and a minivan when you were a kid, too?”
Pearl should have been offended at this but instead she just laughed.
“I love me some candy,” she said.
Seth sighed heavily. “Why didn’t you just ask me? It’s not regulation, but if you really needed to call someone, I could have sorted something out for you. This isn’t a prison.”
“Because prisoners have rights?”
Another sigh, not as heavy as the first. “Who did you want to call?”
“My friend.”
“Why?”
Pearl squirmed against the table.
“Why?” Seth asked again, his hands stilling.
“Needed a reality check. Wanted her to tell me if I’m crazy for do
ing this.”
“And if she’d said you are?”
Pearl shrugged. “Don’t know.”
Seth’s hands began moving again, drawing a deep sigh from her. “Had it all figured out, didn’t you?”
“Fuck you,” Pearl mumbled.
“Would if you could?” His hands didn’t still, but his voice dropped lower than his usual rumble. Pearl’s eyes widened, but she didn’t reply. Her entire body was tingling at this point, but that was just the massage, right?
Right?
He remained silent after that jarring comment. At some point, he proffered her another joint, leaving it with her while he worked on her thighs and calves. She finished the entire thing by herself, not even noticing when the roach slipped from her loose fingers and tumbled to the tiles beneath her.
He kneaded her ass when he was done with her legs.
It was delicious.
Then he ran his fingers over her neck and scalp. Now her body thrummed from his touch. She felt like a tuning fork, vibrating ever so slightly. It was probably the weed. Most definitely his skill at working her muscles.
He moved in front of her, standing inches away as his fingers delved deep into her hair.
Soft. Strong.
It was eons since he’d said those words to her. Since she’d wondered if he was some kind of reborn hairdresser.
You’re beautiful and sexy and amazing, kitten.
His fingers touched the skin behind her ears, caressing the side of her neck. She shivered.
His voice was silk. “That nice, kitten?”
Pearl got her arms under her and levered herself up.
“What’s wrong?” His black eyes creased with concern. “Too hard?”
Pearl licked her lips and faced him with a sigh that shook her limbs.
“Fuck, no,” she whispered.
She slid her arms over his shoulders, grabbed the back of his neck, and tugged him closer. Well, she tried tugging him closer. He didn’t move, so she ended up drawing herself against him and almost slipping off the table.
Her lips found his, the edges of his beard surprisingly soft against her mouth as she gave him a ferocious kiss. He grunted in surprise before jerking her against his chest with a force that drove the air from her lungs. So hungry, his mouth. So demanding, those soft lips.
She slid her hands under his shirt, raking her nails over his back. There were thick, bunching muscles under his skin, some quivering at her touch. He shuddered beneath her, his fingers digging into her ass—
And then he stepped back so suddenly she almost fell off the massage table again. He drew a ragged breath, his hand clutching her shoulder to steady her as she clawed for balance.
“No,” he said. “That’s not what this is.”
She blinked at him, fingertips pressed to her lips. What the fuck kind of a riddle was that? She opened her mouth, found a complete lack of words, and wrapped her arms around her breasts.
Her skin tingled wildly, her muscles crooning with the attention his fingertips had paid them.
“I…” she began, surprised that there was even a single syllable in her vocabulary.
“Lay down.”
She slid onto her stomach again. His fingers touched her again, but not with the intensity of before: instead they trailed over her skin as light as a summer breeze and a hundred times more pleasurable.
“Relax, kitten,” he rumbled down to her. “Close your eyes and relax.”
So she did, still feeling the aftershock of his kiss on her lips.
A finger against her earlobe woke her with a start. Pearl jolted upright, grabbing at a blanket as it slid to her waist. She blinked across at Seth, who faced her with calm eyes.
“I’d have left you longer, but I need to get you ready for your scene.”
“Scene?” she murmured.
Seth set a cup of coffee down on the massage table. He turned and fetched a robe from its hook against the back of the door, draping it over the table.
“I’ll be outside.”
She drank some of the coffee, staring around the small room. Her brain still felt woozy, but whether that was from being awoken from leaden sleep, or the joint she’d smoked earlier, or Seth’s massage… who knew?
He was on the couch, bent over his phone as he typed away at the screen. It looked like a toy in his big hands, and he looked awkward using it. He glanced aside at her, gave her a small nod, and went back to whatever he was doing.
“I’m really hungry,” Pearl said.
Seth used his chin to point toward the kitchenette without taking his eyes off the phone.
“Check the fridge.”
Pearl opened the small fridge and poked around in it. She found a pasta salad and took it out. Standing in the kitchenette, she began devouring the thing, almost done when Seth let out a derisive snort.
“Fucking Caden,” he muttered, shoving the phone into his back pocket as he stood. His eyes found her, and he watched her eat the last spoonful of pasta. “Let’s go.”
Her eyes widened. “Now?”
“You need to shower, wash your hair. There’s oil in it. On you.”
He’d reverted to Fox Handler Seth again. She nodded at him and followed him out of his apartment. The halls, as always, were empty as they moved through them. They had to have the place on a tight schedule: it seemed they’d eliminated the possibility of foxes accidentally bumping into guests.
Seth led her back to the den. Gia perked up at seeing him, and then slumped down again when she saw Pearl. Morgan was in the living room, too, but she didn’t look up when they came in. Pearl heard them talking when she went into her room to fetch clean clothes.
“You have an hour, kitten.”
“Not going,” Morgan replied.
“You’ve used up all your free passes,” Seth said, his voice dipping low.
“So sue me.”
“You think they won’t?”
Pearl’s eyebrows shot up. She paused, listening intently.
“They can find someone else.”
“You’re fine with losing everything?”
“He’s a fucking creep!” There was a crash, and Pearl jerked. She snatched her clothes out of the cupboard and sidled toward the door, peeking around it.
Morgan stood with fists at her side, visibly shaking. Pearl’s eyes were drawn to a splat on the wall, trailing the stream of coffee to the shattered mug below.
“Give him to someone else!” Morgan yelled.
“You know it doesn’t work like—” Seth began.
Morgan screamed in frustration and stormed out of the room, slamming her bedroom door so hard that the wood rattled in its frame.
Seth’s mouth was a thin line, his shoulders bunching.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered, swiping his hand through his hair. When he caught sight of Pearl, he cocked his head to the bathroom. “Move it.”
She scuttled into the bathroom and hurriedly showered, her skin still prickling. Seth’s eyes had been as hard as black ice back there.
When she’d finished showering and drying her hair, Seth took her upstairs. He led her to the same small bathroom as before, the one that led to the dungeon, and told her to pee. This time, he didn’t leave the room.
Once he began painting her with makeup, his mood seemed to lift. His eyes softened from ice to tar, and he even had a faint smile on his mouth when he turned her to face her reflection.
Ears: check. Tail: check. Painted nose: check. Complete lack of clothing: check.
A troop of elephants began thundering in her chest.
“Remember your breathing,” Seth said, ducking his head so his mouth was against her ear.
“Yup,” she said, her stomach fluttering at the proximity of his lips. All she had to do was twist her head and she could—
Embarrass herself more than she’d already done?
“Safe word?” came another shiver-inducing murmur from Seth.
“Red.”
Seth slid his h
ands over the top of her arms and drew her into a hug.
“This wolf is gentle,” Seth said into her ear. “But he demands complete obedience. Whatever he commands, you do. No backtalk. If you don’t understand him, then say so.”
“Okay.” God, how she hated the way her voice was shaking right now.
“When you speak to him, you call him Sir.”
Her stomach wound itself up like a spring. “Okay.”
“When you feel pleasure, you thank him. When you feel pain, you thank him.”
“Pain?” Her eyes flicked up to reflection of Seth’s eyes.
Seth looked down at her and squeezed her tight. Then he disengaged one of his hands.
The flat of his hand met her ass in a solid slap.
Pearl gasped, her hips bucking forward. Her left cheek stung for a few seconds before the intense heat of it flickered and went out. She was left with strobing warmth and a tingling deep inside her.
“Pain,” he repeated.
She swallowed hard and whispered, “Thank you, Sir.”
Seth’s eyes flared. He ran a hand over the front of her throat and gripped her. His breath washed over her, warm and sweet, and for a second she thought he would kiss her.
Instead, he just smiled. “Good girl.”
Her wolf arrived dressed in a suit. As suits went, it was understated, sleek, and probably cost more than she was being paid for her entire stay at the Fox Pit. The wolf mask looked comical, jaunty even, above it.
But the man’s slow movements as he approached Pearl where she waited with a knotted stomach and clammy hands — positioned neatly on the altar by Seth’s unwavering hands — wasn’t in the least funny. He moved with a dangerous grace that made her think he was probably trained in martial arts or had been to Afghanistan. He’d seen death. Perhaps even been the cause of it.
So why the suit?
Pearl tried to keep still as the man drew near, but she couldn’t stop herself shrinking inward like a poor attempt at a soufflé. He wore no gloves like Gia’s wolf had. And she could see his eyes, brown and lifeless, through the mask’s empty eye sockets.
Was his identity not that important as Gia’s wolf?
Or was he confident she couldn’t figure out who he was?
The wolf stood in front of her now, staring at her with eyes the color of damp straw. He reached into the breast pocket of his suit and drew out a slip of golden fabric. The man moved to the side, touching warm fingers to the top of her hand and brushing the smooth satin over her arm.
